


All Sinners Will Die (And Also Some Heroes)

by NotSteve



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Braime - Freeform, Brienne deserves love, Fix-It, Gen, OC, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Winterfell, love you, sansan, starts as canon then goes wherever the hell im gonna take this, this is me slowly destroying canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23201908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotSteve/pseuds/NotSteve
Summary: Mistakes made in the past cannot be corrected. That has become abundantly clear in the last few weeks. Thirteen years after King Bran was crowned King of the Six Kingdoms, a rebellion rises and former leaders are forced to seek refuge in the north. New territory means secrets will come out.(Though this is a fix-it for the show ending, I will be using some elements from the books that weren’t addressed in the show, so I also added it into the A Song of Ice and Fire fandom.)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

“Seven hells,” her uncle muttered, looking through the small crack of the curtain. A glimmer of light illuminated his face before he closed the curtain tightly, grasping it for one long moment to assure it would remain closed. A faint wailing of a girl could be heard outside of the wagon they were hiding inside.

“What is it?” asked Enid, reaching her hand over to the curtain. He grabbed it firmly and held onto it tightly. “No,” he said in a serious but hushed tone.

She retracted her hand and slumped further down in her seat, a scowl forming on her face. A childish reaction, she knew, but her excuse was that she was, in fact, still just a child.

Podrick sat next to her uncle. Still jittery from the fight, he kept his hand tightly on the hilt of his sword. Fresh blood dripped from his blade onto the wooden surface beneath their feet. Her uncle shielded her eyes from the battle, but the clashing of swords and the screams of fallen men still echoed in her mind. A cut lay unattended on his forehead, though it had quit bleeding some time ago. He gave Enid a stern look, which prompted her to sit up straight again. Despite her stubbornness, she still understood the seriousness of the moment.

Her uncle took one last look before closing the curtain tightly again. He looked to Podrick, whose fingers silently tapped the hilt of his sword. They exchanged worried glances before her uncle removed the dirty grey cape on his back and gave it to Enid.

“The worst is over now, dear sweet Enid,” he told her in a soft whisper. He urged her to lay down on the wooden bench she sat on, the only bench secured tightly inside the wagon. Her uncle and Podrick were sitting on two small crates with many boxes surrounding them. They had to hold on tightly to the sides of the cart to prevent themselves from sliding, and to prevent other items from falling on top of them. “We’re out of the city, but we still have a long way to go before we reach Winterfell.”

“What was the wailing, uncle?” she asked—too loudly for her uncle’s liking, for he placed a gentle stubby finger over her lips, and she pursed them in anger as she stubbornly crossed her arms.

Podrick propped his sword against the wall and gently grabbed Enid’s hands, propping one on top of the other. He softly stroked the one on top while his other hand held them in place.

“You have to be quiet, Enid,” he said softly. So quietly she had to read his lips. She was thankful her eyes had finally adjusted, and she could now see both her uncle and Podrick clearly; minutes ago, they were simply darkened blobs.

The wagon dipped and her uncle involuntarily fell to the floor with a hard thud. A few crates behind him followed him down. Despite the pain, he kept his displeasure to himself. Podrick’s sword also slid to the ground and he grabbed it by the blade before it made a clank against the wooden surface. Fresh blood oozed out of Podrick’s hands, but, like her uncle, he suffered in silence.

Enid observed his face, biting his lip to prevent a cry of pain from emerging. She offered him her uncle’s cape while her uncle recovered from his fall. Podrick gratefully tore a piece of cloth and wrapped it around his fresh wound.

There was another woman’s scream, followed by a rough grunt of a beast. Enid knew it was a beast because no man had the ability to make such noises. Again, her uncle and Podrick exchanged a grimace look.

If Enid were to ask them what was happening, they would shush her and then make something up when she asked them again later, when it was safe to talk. But she was old enough to know what was happening. It would be her if she remained in King’s Landing much longer, she knew. She instinctively fiddled with the small knife at her side; her mother gave it to her before they parted. If Enid were to die at the hands of beasts, at least her mother knew she would be fighting until her last breath.

Outside the wagon, she heard Bronn—dressed in a simple man’s disguise to guide them safely out of the city—mumble something to the beast outside. A joke, of course. Her uncle heard it too, for his eyes went wide in fear. His hand found the curtain again, but he resisted the urge to look out of it. The wagon stopped and girl and beast both went silent.

Enid’s uncle cursed under his breath as his fingers stroked the blood red curtain hiding them from the rest of the world. His other hand found the knife at his belt. Swords clashed for a moment outside. It brought Enid back to the training yard at the Red Keep where her mother would kick those most deserving to the dirt with Oathkeeper. And Enid would do the same with her wooden sword. And then the clashing of swords ceased, and silence filled the air. The wagon soon began moving again and breaths they did not realize they were holding were released.

Despite her efforts, sleep succumbed to her. She dreamed of her mother and the gentle ocean waves. Her mother watched from the distance as she floated atop the water like a simple sailboat, the sun beaming above her as the salty waves pushed her to shore. Her mother called her name—her dreadful name—telling her to come back in. And the dreadful beasts watching from the rocks above as she emerged from the ocean, dressed in only her smallclothes. Though she was a girl who had yet to fully bloom, their eyes filled with desire; a desire Enid’s mother had never known. She covered herself, ashamed of those dirty desires. Her mother’s arms quickly wrapped themselves around her, protecting her from the beasts above. And then they were walking in the garden chasing butterflies and other creatures living amongst them. No men or beasts in sight. Only warmth and beauty, and the sun beaming above.

She awoke with her mother’s embrace still fresh on her mind, and the smell of the salty ocean fading quickly and the smell of sweat and shit quickly replacing it. She licked her chapped and dry lips to moisten them. Laying on the wooden bench with her uncle’s cape only covering her the top half of her body, she felt a terrible ache in both her neck and back. There was a dryness in her mouth and a strong desire to puke. Her sense of time had dissipated; she had no way of knowing whether she had been asleep for hours or days. But her eyes remained closed, wishing to fade back into Summer, back into her mother’s arms.

“There’s still Jon Snow beyond the wall,” she heard Podrick whisper, which let Enid know they were far enough away from the city to speak again.

She heard her uncle scoff. “They’ll only see him as another Stark man pressing Northern ideals onto them.”

“He’s a Targaryen and the rightful heir.”

“That won’t matter. Not to them. And I suspect his stance on the role has remained unchanged these last thirteen years of his exile,” he said. Her uncle paused for a moment before sighing. “Why must we speak of him as if he has been executed? He’s still the king—and as far as we know, alive and well. Hopefully by now he’s safe with his sister.

“I feel such a fool,” continued her uncle. The wagon took a dip and Enid heard a few crates crash and slide towards her. “Strangers have ruled over this land for… far too long. I suppose their uprising was inevitable. I… might have been blinded by my own glory to take notice.”

“Perhaps we all were,” she heard Podrick say, a sadness in his tone.

“At least one thing good came out of all of this. You’re no longer bound to the Kingsguard—you can have as many women as your cock desires.”

Podrick chuckled slightly. Enid felt her stomach turn. If they knew she was awake, they would not be having such discussions around her. “Maybe I’ll settle down in Winterfell. Find a wife. Have some children.”

“I say that’s a wonderful idea, Podrick.”

“What of you? What will you do?”

Her uncle let out a hard breath. “I’ll probably drink myself silly the first few nights. Lie low until the chaos has calmed. And then gather up some men and see what’s left of Casterly Rock, I suppose. If it’s conquered; attempt to get it back. If it’s destroyed, attempt to rebuild it.”

“What of Enid?” She felt their eyes on her then and she tightened her eyelids to strengthen the belief that she was still fast asleep.

“My hope is to have Enid accompany me to Casterly Rock,” he answered softly. “She is, after all, the rightful heir now—though I wonder if the rulers of this new Westeros would accept her legitimacy. A ruler they no longer consider their king grants a girl a name that is on the verge of extinction. And once she is of age, I’ll find her a suitor. A man strong and brave, like herself.”

Enid opened her eyes, but before she could intervene, and before her uncle and Podrick could take notice of her wakeful state, the wagon stopped. And she felt Bronn jump off. She turned to her uncle, who had his eyes peering out the curtain. Enid caught a glimpse of outside; it was night.

The doors in the back opened and then closed again, and, after shuffling a few wooden boxes aside, Bronn appeared, looking like a raggedy old man. His disguise was simple. He stole clothes from a beggar, shaved his head and dirtied himself to make him look like a simple man.

Enid’s uncle must have caught on to whatever Bronn desired, for he pulled out the sack of gold tied to his belt, right beside his blade, and handed it to him. Bronn opened the sack and jumbled the gold coins around.

“Not enough,” said Bronn.

“ _Not enough?_ ” said her uncle, examining the gold inside the sack himself. “This is… far more than what we agreed on.”

Despite his dissatisfaction, Bronn made no effort to return the bag of money; instead he tied it to his waist and made to exit the wagon.

“And—what, might I ask, is your price to get us to Winterfell safely?” continued her uncle, his voice shaking.

“You wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“ _Wouldn’t be able to afford it_ —Bronn, surely you’re not going to leave us here?” Enid could hear the panic in her uncle’s voice. “I assure you; money is not an issue. If this is not enough, you have my word I will get you what your heart most desires once we reach Winterfell. A Lannister always—”

“ _I know the fucking words_ ,” Bronn said. After a moment of contemplation, he let out a hard sigh and untied the brown sack from his waist and threw it back to Enid’s uncle, the gold inside clanking together at the sudden movement. “There’s a group of men—about seven of them—not too far from here. We passed them by without much trouble, but they looked to have killed a farmer and his family. I saw the glimmer in their eyes as they caught sight of me. This is free man’s territory and I’m not the fighter I once was. I could probably kill most of them, but not all of them.”

“If you abandon us now, we might die,” said Podrick, and the thought made Enid’s heart sink to her stomach. The thought of never seeing her mother’s face again. “And if we die, you will be to blame.”

“I’ll get over it. I always do,” he said. He opened the back doors and stepped out. “You’ve got plenty of gold, a magic cock and a feisty Lannister bastard. You never know, you might make this out alive.” And with that, he closed the doors. They heard shuffling from outside as Bronn removed one of their horses tied at the front of the wagon. And before long he and the horse trotted away.

* * *

Brienne had yet to close her eyes since the rebellion began. She and the few Kingsguards lef fled to Winterfell with the king. The image of Enid’s small figure sleeping soundly in her bed was still fresh on her mind. The gentle kiss she gave her as her eyes fluttered open. The dagger Brienne placed in her soft hands. Enid’s eyes becoming fully alert as the shouts of angry men—or beasts, as she liked to call them—could be heard in the distance. Her fingers lightly tracing over the raven on her golden armor as they said their final farewells. Tyrion coming in, urging her to leave before they broke the doors open. Her mind wandered to what she might find now. Bloodied corpses. She had seen it all before, and she would certainly be seeing it again. Though the sight of her own Enid as one of those corpses made her heart sink. After all, she was the last gift he gave her. She cherished all of his gifts: the sword, her armor—but Enid was something special. So, when she knew it was safe and the king would make it to Winterfell untouched, she turned her horse around and went back for Enid.

She and her horse trotted alone in the darkness, the full moon being their only source of light. A few shadowy figures passed them without a second glance. She supposed they mistook her for a man in the darkness. Her hand only had to dance around Oathkeeper; she never had to take it out and use it, not like she had to do while travelling with the king. Occasionally she would stop and examine a corpse or two—the few that occupied the road. The moonlight illuminating them, and she would be relieved that there were no familiar faces among them.

But as day began to break, her disguise was beginning to fade away. Soon they would recognize her not as a fellow man, a fellow rider of the night, but as Brienne of Tarth, Lord Commander of King Bran’s Kingsguard.

The moon began to fade, and the sun peered its head out from the earth, like a babe entering the world. Brienne quickly thought of Enid; her laughter… her stubbornness… her beauty. A handful of Lords and Ladies have offered their sons to her. A highborn bastard turned legitimate heir to Casterly Rock, men’s desire for Enid’s hand was foreign to Brienne. Tyrion once commented, while drunk, that she resembled a youthful Cersei. Though, he said his older sister was heartless at that age. Enid had all the heart in the world. A little too much heart, some might claim.

Her thoughts quickly subsided as her horse stopped at an abandoned carriage with only one horse tied to the front. Her hand instinctively found Oathkeeper as she dismounted her horse. After examining the wagon from outside and giving a few treats to the lonesome horse, she went to the back to open its doors.

Podrick greeted her with his sword at the ready and a breath of relief releasing from his lungs. Though happy to see he was alive and well. Brienne looked passed her old friend and searched for Enid’s figure. Before her eyes could properly adjust to the darkness, however, something came sprinting towards her and embraced her tightly, and her eyes did not need to see to know it was Enid.

* * *

“Uncle wishes to send me to my death.”

“What?” Brienne had abandoned her armor, discarded it to one of the crates around her. She and Enid remained in the wagon with Tyrion and Podrick steering up front. Their plan was to pass as an odd family consisting of a dwarf, a young man, a ghastly woman and a young golden beauty. So far, they had little trouble on the road. They had been traveling for a week or so with little stops. The coolness in the air told them they were close to Winterfell.

Enid’s head rested on her lap, and Brienne’s rough calloused hands calmly stroked her soft cheek.

“He wants to take me away,” continued Enid. “To steal my innocence. And send me off to Casterly Rock. I’ll be married off to a beast and be hidden away from the rest of the world.”

“You know I won’t let that happen.”

Enid found her mother’s hand and held onto it tightly. “Promise me we won’t ever be apart again. We’ll stay together forever—no matter what.”

Children laughing and shouting outside prevented Brienne from responding. Enid, reacting to the noise, sat up to open the curtain. The sun shone into the small wooden space, giving it light, and Winterfell was just a few heartbeats away from them. Women, men and children all occupied the streets, unbothered by war.

She spotted a large man sitting lonesome on a barrel. His clothes were brown and raggedy. His face was wrinkly and damaged by fire, she noticed, occupying all of his face, and perhaps his entire body. Because of his burns, only a small amount of hair grew atop his head and chin. He had an eyepatch over one eye while the other looked horribly damaged. He sat slumped over with a plate of food in his hands. But instead of eating the food, he was feeding it to the little birds gathered around his large feet. He must have felt Enid’s eyes on him, for he looked up. She offered him a gentle wave—he turned his plate over, dumping the remaining food onto the ground for the little birds to eat, and then entered the building closest to him.

Enid then turned back to her mother. “How long will it be until it snows again?” she asked.

Brienne managed to hide her amusement as she too took a look outside. The rooftops were already white with snow and the streets wet from melted ice. The last time she was in Winterfell, Enid was just a babe growing inside of her and snow was everywhere. Now it was Summer, and less snow occupied the streets. “It shouldn’t be too long now.”

The wagon stopped and Enid was the first to climb out. The days of uncleanliness caused her usual golden hair to become brown with dirt and grease. Brienne imagined she looked much worse. She followed her daughter out. They were greeted by two of the remaining three Stark children at the front of the castle.

Sansa stood center, her royal crown glimmering in the sun above them. Her royal guards, dressed in pure white armor, stood alert beside her. Bran sat off to the side—a northern guard, instead of a kingsguard, behind him. Brienne quickly bowed respectively to the Queen of the North with Enid half-heartedly mimicking her. Sansa embraced her tightly like she was an old friend.

“Your Grace,” greeted Brienne. She turned to Bran and bowed respectfully again, and Enid copied her, more out of habit than out of respect. Bran, however, did not react. He simply acknowledged her with a gentle nod.

The Queen then turned to Enid. Several expressions sprung on her face: first shock, then melancholy, until finally settling on a look of content. A gust of northern wind blew and Enid’s hair blinded her for a quick moment before the Queen gently brushed it back to the side.

Enid had only heard stories of the Queen of the North. People called her the Virgin Queen in King’s Landing, due to her unwillingness to marry and create heirs. She was married twice: once to Enid’s uncle, and another time to a beast. Some beasts refer to her as the Ice Queen, because they are cruel and are intimidated by powerful women—that was what Enid’s mother told her, anyway. They are the same beasts who called Enid a bastard and her mother the Kingslayer’s Whore.

Enid politely curtsied. “Y-your Grace.” 

The Queen’s hand found Enid’s chin, examining all of her facial features, and for a quick moment Enid saw fire in her eyes. “Hello, little dove,” she said softly. “You are a beauty.”

All Enid could do was stare up at the blue-eyed Queen before her. The Queen’s hand let go just in time for Enid’s uncle to take it and kiss it. 

“We are grateful for your hospitality, You Grace,” he said.

She acknowledged him with a nod and a gentle smile. A man behind her, dressed in white armor and a dire wolf atop his head, stepped forward. “Your Grace,” he said with an awkward cough as another man—someone dressed in more practical clothing—guided two horses into sight.

The Queen pulled away. “Bran and I are going for a quick ride before dinner,” she said. “Haywood here”—she gestured to another man in white armor— “will show you to your rooms. The journey you have been on has been long, but I am pleased to say it is finally over. A hot bath and a soft bed for you to sleep on are waiting for you in your rooms. If you need anything at all, please feel free to ask. My servants will be more than happy to accommodate you.” Enid’s mother opened her mouth to speak, but the Queen raised her hand to silence her: “We’ll talk politics once you’re well rested.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Brienne with a quick bow.

They watched as they mounted their horses. The King—who was perhaps not a king at all anymore—had a special wooden device on his horse that allowed him to ride independently. Haywood, the white knight, picked him up and placed him atop the horse, and another attached him to the wooden device.

The Queen mounted her horse alone while her white armored knights watched her closely—she sat on her horse like Enid’s mother did, not like a lady but like a lady at all. After one last acknowledgment to her guests, she trotted away with her brother and a few of her guards following closely behind.

And then Enid saw the disfigured man again, camouflaged in the crowd of people gathered around to greet their beloved Queen. He watched the Queen with great intensity while the Queen herself took no notice of him at all.

“Enid,” she heard her mother say but her eyes remained on the man.

When the man left the crowd, she finally turned back to her mother. It was then that she noticed the snowflakes falling around her and the soft smile on her mother’s face. But her mind could only think of the Stark words in that moment: winter was coming. But those words were wrong; winter was already here.


	2. The Lion, the Bear and the Goat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enid pets a dog and Brienne attend a meeting.

The bear and the goat stood facing each other while the lion stood in the corner, off on its own adventure. Enid tipped over the goat with the flick of her finger and the bear joined the lion. The wooden animals were a gift from Ser Davos last year on her twelfth nameday. The other animals—the wolf, the doe, the dog and the hog—were still on the stones of King’s Landing, she supposed. Unless someone had moved them, or the castle had crumbled. She was only able to grab a handful before Podrick carried her out of the Red Keep. She even forgot she rescued some of them; she dumped the animals in one of the crates upon entering the wagon, and they were only discovered because a servant found them while cleaning out the wagon.

Enid heard her mother’s soft snoring from the bed at the far end of the room, and Enid desperately wished she was awake. She watched her mother’s sleeping form: one arm resting under her head with the other grasping the warm furs around her. Enid hated the furs in the north; they were itchy and hot.

She removed the goat from the scene that was playing only in her head and sat down on the bed beside her mother. She was close enough to see her mother’s breathing; her chest calmly moving up and then down, and then repeating. Enid moved the goat up the furs and onto her mother’s face. When the animal reached her cheek, her mother’s eyes opened slightly before closing them again. The snoring ceased. The goat continued its journey exploring her mother’s face. The tail of the goat soon found the entrance to her mother’s nose and she flinched, her hand swiping away the unwanted goat.

“ _Enid_ ,” her mother muttered out in an irritated tone. She turned away from her daughter, and away from the bright light illuminating the room. She had slept through the morning and was about to surpass the afternoon.

Enid discarded the goat and leaned against her mother’s back. “You’ve been asleep for hours now, mother. When will you wake?” Her mother said nothing, so she turned and lifted herself on top of her. Her mother let out a slight grunt at the sudden weight, but her eyes remained closed. She brushed away a few strands of hair covering her mother’s ear before whispering into it tenderly: “Are you dreaming of him, mother? Are you dreaming of my father?”

“Yes,” said her mother softly, her eyes still remaining tightly closed.

Enid rested her head on top of her mother’s shoulder. She could never dream of the golden lion, no matter how hard she tried. She would only see her mother, and sometimes her uncle. If she were to dream of her father, she would only dream an empty face. “Am I there too?” she asked, mostly to herself.

Her mother shifted, forcing Enid to move her body too. Soon she was curled up in her mother’s arms, their hands finding interlocking. Enid caught a whiff of her mother’s terrible breath and turned from her, opting to face the sun instead. Her mother’s arms tightened around her, pulling her close.

Instead of waiting for her to answer, Enid continued with another question: “When you wake, can we go for a walk around the castle? There are little birds I wish to meet.”

* * *

Enid enjoyed wearing pretty dresses and singing songs. Brienne did too, once. But unlike her, whenever Enid came skipping into a room people’s heads did not turn and question why she was acting in such a way. Instead, people smiled at her antics; some eyes even lingered. She was tall, but not broad shouldered like Brienne. Her face was smooth without freckles and her hair shone a beautiful Lannister gold instead of Brienne’s Tarth straw blonde. She was Jaime through and through, and for that Brienne was grateful.

“What if he’s still out there,” said Enid calmly. She was on her knees, unbothered by the sticks and leaves beneath her, with a hand dipping into the black water. They were exploring the godswood inside Winterfell, and the face carved in the tree and the dark waters beside it captivated the young Enid Lannister. Brienne stood next to her, watching intently, in case Enid decided to explore the water deeper. Brienne was recounting her memories of the war to her daughter—taming down the much more violent parts of the story. “What if Arya Stark didn’t actually kill the Night King. What if she only wounded him.”

She removed her hand from the water, disappointed that it did not also turn her hand black, and wiped it on her pretty blue dress, leaving behind a wet handprint.

“If that were true, then the dead would be walking among us.”

Enid stood, brushing the dirt off her knees. “Last night Uncle Tyrion went to a tavern with Podrick and when they came back, they were walking like dead men.”

Brienne smiled slightly. “There is a difference between the two, you know.”

“Yes,” agreed Enid. “Drunk men awake with terrible aches in their body and regrets from the night before. Dead men never sober up. And beasts, the fowl creatures, are somewhere in in between the two.”

As Brienne and Enid joined hands, the guard they had come to know as Haywood emerged from the thick trees. He was a man with brown eyes and pale skin. Brienne learned quickly the other guards playfully referred to him as Whiskers, because of the small amount of facial hair that grew on his chin; he was still quite young and lacked the ability to grow a full beard. The other guards all had thick greying beards. Most of whom fought along side Brienne in the Great War.

“Ser Brienne,” Haywood greeted with a slight cough. His eyes went to Enid. “Lady Enid.” And then his attention went back to Brienne. “The Queen invites you to attend her council meeting, ser. Lord Tyrion and Ser Podrick have also been requested.”

“Yes, of course,” said Brienne, her hand slipping out of her daughter’s grasp.

“Can I come too?” asked Enid.

“This is no meeting for a small child,” said Haywood.

Enid crossed her arms as a stubborn pout formed on her face. “I’m hardly small.”

“But you are still a child,” said Brienne.

Enid’s shoulders slumped down in disappointment as Brienne placed a gentle kiss atop her head. “Can I at least stay and explore the grove some more?”

A large black dog appeared quickly; it sniffed the air for a quick moment before disappearing back into the shrubs. Brienne let out a gentle sigh as her hand stroked her daughter’s cheek softly. “All right,” she said, and Enid let out an excited squeal. Before Brienne could blink, Enid was already running after the black dog. “But be back before dark. And make sure you’re being careful.”

“Yes, mother,” called Enid from afar.

* * *

The Great Hall had remained almost untouched since Brienne had last stepped foot inside of it thirteen years ago. The only drastic change to it was the Sansa’s throne, propped high above everything else. A long dark table sat below it where Sansa conducted all her council sessions. Sansa’s chair was slightly more regal than the ones Brienne and the others all sat on.

“Lord Robin of the Eyrie has promised two hundred of his men,” said Tyrion. In his hands he held a small scroll. “And a raven from Lord Edmure Tully has yet to arrive, but I imagine it will be more of the same…”

“That should be plenty to take back King’s Landing,” said Sansa, “but to be sure, I’ll send word to Jon up north. Maybe he’ll be willing to send down a few of his men.”

“Hendrik Rivers has identified himself as the leader of these rebels—I don’t know much about him, but it has become abundantly clear in these last few weeks that he is a man of action,” said Tyrion. “I imagine he and his men have made good use of the artillery held in the Red Keep. But if we outnumber them, it shouldn’t matter how great their weapons are.”

“I don’t wish to take back King’s Landing,” said Bran suddenly. The room went uncomfortably silent as they all turned to him.

Tyrion shifted in his seat. “Your Grace—”

“I’m not Your Grace. That is a title that belongs only to my sister now,” he continued. “The uprising was… inevitable. It was only a matter of time before the people took power.”

“You anticipated this?” said Sansa.

“We all did,” he said. “I was never meant to stay on the throne forever. You’ve said it yourself; I can’t even produce an heir to take my place when I die. Hendrik Rivers only sped up the inevitable.”

“Are you suggesting we do nothing while the six kingdoms— _six kingdoms you have vowed to protect, I might remind you_ —crumble at the hands of these men? You may be an exiled king, but you are still, in fact, a king. Men, women and young children are dying—daily—at the hands of Hendrik and his men.

“You left the city before the chaos truly began, Your Grace,” he continued. “You did not see the blood of your followers painted on the streets of the city.” He paused and took a deep breath. “You did not see a woman being raped by one of Hendrik’s men on a pile of fresh corpses. We cannot abandon these people…”

Bran raised a hand to silence his former Hand. “I do not wish to abandon the people, Tyrion, but our interference is what caused the chaos. The people need to know what they want before any sort of change can happen.”

Tyrion tapped his index finger angrily onto the table a few times before letting out a defeated sigh. “Very well. I will… send ravens to both Robin Arryn and Edmure Tully, asking them to… _disregard_ _my last few messages_.”

“Your… Grace,” Brienne began with a slight cough. She did not know what to call him anymore, but she had been calling him ‘Your Grace’ and ‘King Bran’ for the last thirteen years and it was hard to quit. “I offer my services again to you. The oath I made to your mother all those years ago still holds true today. Whatever you decide, I want you to know you still have my loyalty.” She glanced at Sansa. “To all of the Starks.”

Sansa gave her a gentle smile.

“Thank you, Brienne, but I’m afraid I will no longer have any use for a Lord Commander,” said Bran. “I wish to travel north and live the rest of my days as the Three Eyed Raven.”

“And what of King’s Landing?” asked Tyrion, his irritation rising.

“When things have calmed, another council meeting should be held to decide the fate of the kingdom. I will have no part in it, and neither should you. If you wish to travel to Casterly Rock, I cannot stop you.”

Brienne’s eyes met Tyrion’s for a moment, before she forced herself to look away. She instead focused on her former king. “Your Gr— _Lord Bran_ ,” she said firmly, “please, as my last service to you, allow me to escort you north.”

“Me too,” said Podrick.

Bran accepted their offer with a nod before he lifted his hand to summon one of Sansa’s guards, who came to his aid and wheeled his chair away from the table. “I wish to leave before dawn,” he announced to them.

He was wheeled away quickly. A guard whispered something into Sansa’s ear and she politely excused herself, officially closing the meeting. Both Brienne and Podrick stood while Tyrion remained seated.

“Might I have a quick word, Ser Brienne,” said Tyrion.

He waited until the room was empty before expressing his concerns to her: “The chaos will only cease when Hendrik and his men are defeated.”

“What are you saying?”

“We ignore Bran’s orders,” he said, making sure his voice was low to prevent any unwanted ears from listening in. “I propose we continue our plans to take back King’s Landing. When Hendrik is killed and his head is up on a stick, we’ll appoint a new ruler…”

“And who would we appoint?”

“Gendry Baratheon,” said Tyrion. “As the legitimate son of—”

Brienne stood abruptly, nearly knocking her chair over. “I will not participate in such treachery. If you must act on it, you’ll act on it alone. _And do not dare bring Enid with you. If I arrive back to Winterfell and you have taken her, it will be your head up on that stick_.”

“My lady—I mean, Ser…” he began, but she stomped away before he could utter another word.

* * *

The sound of the black dog barking led Enid to a clump of shrubs. Through thorns and flowers, she saw the faint image of the dog on the other side. _How did you get over there_? she wondered to herself as her eyes searched for a safe opening. Finding no other solution, she journeyed forward. Twigs and leaves crumbled beneath her feat and the thorns pinched her skin. One thorn pricked her skin and fresh blood slid down from her knee and onto the wool sock she wore. But the pain was nothing compared to the hard stone inside the Red Keep. Once while running the halls, she slipped and fell on her knees and elbows. It took a few weeks for the bruises to heal, and even longer for the scrapes. Maester Wilmot scolded her for acting in such a way; mother only cautioned for her to be more careful next time.

Emerging from the shrubs, the dog greeted her by licking the blood trickling down on her leg. “Silly dog,” she said, placing a gentle pat atop its head.

A soft whistle echoed around them and both Enid and the dog looked up. The dog’s ears perked up and his tail began to wag in anticipation as he sniffed the air. It let out a gentle bark and soon it was off.

“Wait for me,” said Enid, following the dog.

To her surprise, the dog led Enid to the man she had seen feeding the little birds. He was propped up against a thick oak tree with a container of something at his side; by the smell of the air around them, it was wine—and she wondered whether she was approaching a beast or man. The man scratched the dog’s ears and the dog barked in satisfaction.

“Pardon me, ser,” she said softly.

He looked up, the smile on his face quickly fading. A close look at his face told her he was more beautiful from afar. The eye not hidden behind an eyepatch looked red and pulsing. She could see the veins bulging out of it and the liquid seeping out of it. And his burns made him look inhuman—he did not have a face, but rather two eyes and a mouth attached to a ghastly being. The left side of his chin had a few prickly strands of hair growing from it while his head had even less.

His eye silently examined her as well. “Fucking hells,” he cursed in disbelief, though his voice was calm. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

She coughed, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Is this your dog, ser?”

They both turned to the dog at his side. “Aye.”

“Might I pet him?”

He nodded and Enid went to her knees and patted her heels to draw the dog near. The dog happily came to her. The smell of wine had strengthened.

“He really is a beautiful dog, ser,” she said as she began scratching the dog’s ears.

“Stop calling me ser,” he muttered.

“You’re not a knight?”

“No.”

“Oh,” she said. “I thought you were because of your…” She pointed to his face. All great knights have warrior wounds; Enid’s mother had several, including one she received from a rather vivacious bear. She cleared her throat and began again. “Why aren’t you one? A knight, I mean.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“Oh,” she said. The dog was licking her hand as his paw was guiding her hand to pet his stomach. “Why not?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“How else will I learn?”

“You don’t.”

He opened the container of wine and took a long sip. Enid watched him carefully. She knew he was no beast because of his dog; no good dog would befriend a beast. But was he man?

“Why are you in the godswood?”

“People don’t usually bother me here.”

“Is it your face? Are you ashamed of it?”

He growled and turned away. Enid knew her mother would scold her for asking such a question. She thought he might burst in anger, but instead he dropped his container of wine, letting the liquid leak out onto the dirt, and turned back to her. “You can ask me three more questions,” he said to her, “and then you leave me alone forever.”

She adjusted her legs, so she was no longer sitting on her knees. “All right,” she agreed. “Why do you look like that?”

He huffed. “I got into a fight with my brother.”

“Who won?”

A gentle smile appeared on his disfigured face as he looked off into the distance. Enid looked too, hoping there were birds about, but instead she only saw trees. She and her mother entered the godswood hoping to find birds—her mother warned her that birds rarely made an appearance during winter. “No one,” he told her simply.

She pondered his answer for a moment before standing. The dog quickly went back to the man’s side. “I have to get back before it gets dark,” she said. “Thank you for allowing me to pet your dog.”

He looked at her then. “You’ve still got one more question to ask me.”

“Yes. Now that I know there is a limit, I wish to save my last one,” she said. “Goodbye. See you tomorrow.”

Brienne’s doors burst open and her restless daughter came running in. With one big leap she landed on the bed safely, making the wooden frame holding it creak slightly. Brienne was near the table, attempting to put on her armor. As Lord Commander, she had gotten used to a squire being there to help her in and out of her armor.

“Mother, you won’t believe it,” Enid began. She stood abruptly and ran to her mother’s side. “I saw the disfigured man again today. He was the owner of the dog we saw—I didn’t get the name of the dog, because I could only ask so many questions, but… Why are you putting on armor?”

When Brienne remained silent, Enid’s finger found the breastplate lying on the table with the other pieces surrounding it. She put pressure on it, testing the strength of it. “It’s blue,” Enid noted, “like the one father gave you.”

“Yes,” she said softly. Her Lord Commander armor was no longer safe to be worn—she needed something more sensible.

“Where are we going?”

Again, Brienne said nothing.

Enid retracted her hand from the armor. “Where are _you_ going?”

“It’ll only be a few weeks,” she said.

Enid’s lower lip began to tremble. “You can’t go back to King’s Landing. They’ll kill you!”

“I’m not going to King’s Landing,” she assured her daughter. “I’m going north. Beyond the wall. Bran Stark is no longer king, which means I am no longer the Lord Commander of his kingsguard.”

“Then why are you going north with him?”

“Podrick and I have volunteered our services to escort him safely there,” she continued. “I’ll leave the second we hand him over to Jon Snow.” She cupped her daughter’s face with her rough hands. “You have my word; I will return to you as soon as I can.”

Enid let out a soft sigh as her eyes drifted to the loose armor below them. “There shouldn’t be anything to worry about, really,” she said, mostly to comfort herself. “I was only running my Lannister mouth when I questioned whether or not the Night King was really dead. Deep down I know he won’t be too much of a bother.”

Brienne let out a gentle laugh. “He won’t be a bother at all,” she assured, and pulled Enid into a tight embrace.

“Please don’t leave me, mother,” whispered Enid. "Please don't go like father."


End file.
